The Taylor TurboChaser. David Baddiel
screamed Rahul. “Stop! Stop!”
“I don’t know where the brakes are!” screamed Amy.
“Press the—” began Rahul.
But it was too late!
They were heading directly for the corrugated-iron doors of Agarwal Supplies, and Amy didn’t have time to look down at her fingers. The only time she had was what you might call “reflex time” – that is, the split second when the body takes over and does something by instinct.
And the thing that Amy’s body suddenly found itself able to do, despite never having really done it before, was drive.
Amy gripped the steering wheel with both hands and jerked it all the way round to the left. The Taylor TurboChaser, with surprising smoothness, followed, curving away from the warehouse doors and out into the industrial estate.
But now they were heading right for the skip!
So again, instinct kicked in, and Amy lurched the wheel back to the right, just missing the fridge that had been dumped next to the skip.
Which would have meant they were through this sudden and unexpected obstacle race, had it not been for … the dustbins!
“AAARGH!”
The dustbins were arranged in a way that avoiding them completely was almost impossible. Turning away from one would have meant driving straight at another. Amy’s only choice was to slalom! Which, for those of you who have never seen someone skiing, means “zigzag”!
So she did, turning the wheel very quickly this way and that, making the vehicle rock on its sides as it twisted and turned past one dustbin, then another, then another, then all of them.
She brought the TurboChaser back round. It was still powering away from the dustbins.
“—blue button!” finished Rahul.
“What?”
“I’m finishing my sentence from about three minutes ago! Press the blue button! It’s a brake!”
“Oh!” said Amy, and she pressed it.
The Taylor TurboChaser came to an abrupt halt: a very abrupt halt – Amy and Rahul were thrown forward in their seats in a way that made Amy very thankful indeed for the seat belts.
“Wow!” said Rahul, as gravity settled him back into his seat. “Who taught you to do that?”
“No one,” said Amy. “I just did what came naturally!”
“Well, you can really drive!”
Amy looked at him. “I guess I can. And you, my friend, can really invent. Because what you’ve made here –” she said, holding her arms up and taking in the whole vehicle “– is a supercar!”
“Hi, Dad!”
“Amy … how are you?”
“I’m fine, Dad. How are you?”
“Oh, not bad. I’ve got a lot of work on. But you don’t want to know about that.”
Actually, Dad, Amy wanted to shout down the phone, I DO want to know about that. She was sitting in their hallway, speaking to her dad on the landline (she wasn’t allowed a phone yet, which was annoying, as Jack was on his ALL the time).
Peter Taylor, her dad, called about once a week, and Amy really looked forward to it, even if sometimes she looked back afterwards on their conversations as not being quite what she had hoped for. Jack wouldn’t speak to their dad at all.
But, yes, Amy did want to know about her dad’s job, because her dad’s job was … designing cars! Supercars – which are basically very fast cars – to be exact. Some of them even had his name – and therefore her name – on them!
“Are you working on the new GT 500, Dad, or is it—” she began.
“What? Oh yes. The meeting. Of course. Just give me two minutes.” Amy realised he was speaking to someone else on the other end. But then his voice became loud again. “What were you saying, Amy?” And then before she could answer he said, “How’s the new chair?”
“Oh yes, it’s great! Thank you so much!”
“No need to thank me. Although you could send me a photo of you in it. That would be nice.”
“Er … yes. At some point.”
“Pardon, Amy?” He spoke suddenly strictly, which he sometimes did.
“Sorry, Dad, yes. I will. Soon.”
“OK. Can I speak to your mum?”
Amy felt a dip in her stomach. So often when she talked to her dad, the conversation ended sooner than she would like.
“Sure, Dad. Mum!”
“And, Amy?” he said.
“Yes?”
“I’d really like to see you in that chair. Mobilcon’s prices are daylight robbery – I’d like to know it’s worth it.”
Amy nodded. Which was pointless, because he couldn’t see.
And gulped.
Which he couldn’t see either.
Later that day, the Taylors went out for a walk. This was always difficult. Not because Amy was in a wheelchair. But because of Jack.
“Come on, Jack!” shouted Suzi, as she and Amy waited at the door. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” came back from inside the house, in a stupid voice.
Suzi and Amy exchanged glances.
“Your sister can’t walk!” shouted Suzi. “And she’s coming out for a walk!”
“Yeet!” said Jack, shambling out of his room. “Walking is for Normies. It’s a dank meme.”
“Please speak English.”
“He doesn’t want to come,” said Amy.
“He doesn’t want to come.”
“That means you have to come now,” said Amy. “If you’re being sarcastic about not wanting to come, it means you want to come.”
Jack looked a bit confused. But then said, “OK!” and put his shoes on.
It turned out that there was an Amy-centred problem with the walk, though.
“Amy! Where is your new chair?” said Suzi. “I’m fed up with watching you struggling with that old one!”
“I told you, Mum. I’m still getting used to it. I just want